Sir Gwaine beyond legend
by victiane
Summary: Sir Gwaine, Knight of Camelot under King Arthur, is said in the many legends to be as we know him: a seducer that is keen on hanging out in taverns, losing money playing cards and making many silly jokes: a medieval Dom Juan. But could it really be as simple as that? Why would he have left his family as a teenager, when he was destined to be a knight?
1. Chapter 1

**Sir Gwaine beyond legend**

**Chapter one: going back to the start: young Gwaine and his folks**

In a land of myth and a time of magic, a lord couldn't yet forget the material aspects of his title. He had to manage to have an heir to succeed him, a daughter to marry, in order to make allies, and, of course, a castle. Lord Carnavon could not say that nature didn't provide him what he wanted. If you excepted, of course, having a third child that caused him to worry for many years, it could almost have been ideal.

Carnavon had been built and defended by the family for generations and was considered one of the finest but also one of the most fortified (apart from Camelot, but who would try to compete with such greatness and challenge the king?) places that existed. The most special part of the castle would definitely have been its tower, in which a sole guard lived and checked for invaders, which hopefully didn't happen on a daily basis. That's where Gwaine was used to hiding and trying to find some peace after his brother was too old to play with him. But having sympathised with the guard, who taught him how to hold a sword, the latter soon asked the castle sword master to give him some lessons so that Gwaine could leave him to his duty and more importantly so that he wouldn't have to answer the thousand questions he asked every time he came up there. This worked well, since Gwaine only came after that day to find a quiet place to stay, when he wasn't completely exhausted.

Lord Carnavon was thrilled to hear about this gift because he would rather send his ever energetic and undisciplined son to be a knight than try to force him to be a priest or even a counsellor of some prince. So he delightfully watched his son train every day, even if the latter often tried to avoid having to get up before dawn, with his master and his brother Richard, who had always be destined to rule over Carnavon. Until one day, when he realised that letting his son do what he wanted and was skilled at, had changed the "natural" order of thing.

On that very day, he stood as usual beside the window of his bedroom, from which he was able to see the training field. Gwaine had just turned 16 but it looked like he and his brother could have been fraternal twins. It occurred to him for one moment that his beloved wife Layla would have loved to see this, whereas he could still not forgive an innocent child for taking her away. Once again, he tried to set aside his judgement for a while and admire the dance of swords.

**Never miss a good fight:**

Every other day, Richard and Gwaine challenged each other. It was obviously one of those days. Until then, as it should have been, Richard had won or had let his brother win in the days he was in a good (or we should say a tremendous) mood. But it suddenly appeared that those days were over, which didn't have to be considered as such an issue, only as change, as a modification of the situation in which you make decisions. As the boys grew, the game was getting pretty serious and spectacular since Gwaine had gained strength and agility thanks to training. The sword master rang the fighting bell. Gwaine felt ready to dance. He turned around, starting to jump and lean alternatively, manipulating his sword as if it weighed nothing. It seemed that it should at the same time majestically move and remain as invisible and unpredictable as possible. The sword moved quickly and smoothly with its wielder, all around its human target. Richard was struggling to maintain it at a reasonable distance from his body, but it appeared that his rigidity could not cope with a dancing metallic flame that he thought had just come to life in front of him. To him, it appeared almost nonsensical. It had nothing to do with the lessons he received. The way Gwaine moved was personal, a true connection between the weapon and the touch of its owner, as if the tool had become the extension of the arm, which meant complete mastery by integrating deep inside the principles and realising it in action through his brother. This rarely happened that early in one's life but it usually would come sooner or later and one would logically think: the sooner the better. Richard would have loved the idea if he had not had to deal with it, without being able to respond at all. He had entered survival combat mode. He just hoped his brother wouldn't try anything.

Gwaine's smile couldn't be seen by his opponent, but it had never been so brilliant. Controlling the situation and thus being assured to win filled him up with joy, even if to him it would always remain a game between two brothers, as if they were still five years old. However, he would've liked his brother to play with him, though he knew they weren't the same. To encourage him, he tried to mock him gently but sarcastically, to hopefully make him react in some way. No answer resulted because Richard was simply not able to do anything relevant.

After a while, Lord Carnavon started to worry, even if he was absolutely fascinated by his younger son. How could being talented be a threat to the long-going order of things? His daughter Caelia had joined him when she had woken up. She was even more interested than he was, which could've been quite odd for a girl but that he considered as part of the admiration due to men by women. He saw her as the daughter he always wanted, extremely beautiful and kind, never causing troubles. She had been engaged to his most precious ally for years but they were both finally coming of age –and he had noticed with great pleasure that Caelia didn't seem to be willing to call his decision into question. Unfortunately the fight he was still witnessing actually did. How could Richard could be legitimated as his heir if Gwaine proved to clearly be the best protector for the land? Something had to be done as soon as possible. Lord Carnavon then walked down to the training field, followed by Caelia, who was afraid of what she should expect to be her father's next move. Luckily, he only had to separate his two sons as he did many times before when they lost the track of time while training.

"It's enough for the day" he shouted, entering the field, as if nothing special was on. "Richard, come here, we've got some important matters to discuss now"

Gwaine put his sword down, disappointed not to have tried to finish this properly. His status had changed, he could feel it now. That's why he had to hide somewhere to try thinking about it. The tower was still waiting for him, even though it had been a while since he last went there. At the same moment, Caelia came towards him, asking if he needed to talk and so they eventually went for a walk in the forest near the castle.

**Out of the world of conventions**

They had been wandering for a while, speechless, thriving some peace along with the presence of a loved one. The day could've been described as ideal, just as the ones of legends when a key moment was coming, idealised as nothing else could be.

"You've become a great warrior, my dear brother. I couldn't be more proud of you" She suddenly said calmly, as a mother would've done with her son, and as she had always acted towards her little brother, when she felt he would need a loving protection in life, which she was willing to give.

"I wish father thought the same, just as I wish he wouldn't have you married to that horrid neighbour of ours. I don't get why he didn't let you choose at least between two or three potential allies." He replied, angrily, but with an attitude suggesting it was aimed at his father.

"If only that was possible. If only I was a boy. But I'll always have you by my side" she smoothly whispered, taking his arm." Since we are equals AND together in this"

"If only we were equal to the other two. Our existence could then reveal itself to be marvellously effective." He replied, hopeless.

"We won't change anything by planning a future that requires so many conditions. Now, since we have to face some changes imminently, as it seems, let's take a look at what is in our power to consider." She was trying to bring back the light into her brother's shadowy eyes. "I feel like a warrior after what happened today, even if I remained a girly-interested witness"

"Why don't we fight then? At least your husband won't harm you if he ever come across the idea while I'm not around." He jumped around looking for two fit-for-training sticks. The sole possibility of what they were about to do appeared so outrageously against all established rules and, not surprisingly, following his motto (if he had to have one only). He had a half-smile that was so rare to be observed on his face. Caelia smiled back, seduced by the idea, though she knew the one she was meant to marry was nothing but a lamb, gentle, idiot and cowardly in every occasion.

"Okay, some the basic principle you must always keep in mind is that your weapon is nothing strange to you but on the contrary your best friend when you're trouble." Gwaine began, with a little something of his master though he meant every word in his heart. "Then you mustn't ever lose your balance, which shouldn't be a problem since we spent our childhood running on the roofs trying to scare ourselves up as much as we thought was possible"

After that, he showed her how stood or at least aimed at standing during a struggle and helped her find hers. The lesson lasted all afternoon. They were both feeling so relieved thanks to this unexpected true moment of freedom and of what would become a quietening secret and at the same time a founding memory.

When night came, they had no choice but to walk back, playing as children would do, pretending that the shadows of the night were after them and practising against thin air. Entering the castle, they were received by Lord Carnavon's grumpy face. He didn't know what happened, without a clue. However he could feel that if he let that happen, when it was to eventually be a regular thing, he would quickly lose control to those who had not the right to undertake anything. With what he considered to be his best fortitude, he determined himself to adapt his actions to reality. A reality that had just been turned upside down to his stunned eyes.


	2. Chapter 2: having hard times

_A/N: I'm sorry if anyone was expecting this chapter sooner. I'm firstly a slow writer (also because I'm in the middle of very demanding studies) but it's mainly because I've had the greatest difficulties to find a beta (if anyone is interested and prepared to correct my silly "frenchy" mistakes, it'd be absolutely fabulous). Enjoy!_

**Chapter two: having hard times, isn't the best way to learn?**

Since his sister's wedding, brought forward by his father, eager to settle his alliance (at least that's what he pretexted when he made the announcement), Gwaine had found himself more and more drinking at the tavern, trying to escape the castle, that had become an unwelcoming and even unbearable place, even up in his tower. When Sir Carnavon realised this was the best excuse he could ever find to send his son away, he ordered one of his men to search the whole country for a knight that would allow Gwaine to be his apprentice. A young and vigorous man to exploit, one would think that every single knight, apart from those of Camelot that already obtained everything they craved for, would come to Carnavon as soon as he heard about this offer. Unfortunately, rumours were always the worst thing that could happen to an unknown and still fragile nobleman, only entering public life, in a world where a rumour was as relevant and believed as a fact. Since he had found himself the youngest of his family and cause of his mother's death (against his will), he already had a great "legendary" background before he even knew how to hold a sword and had the possibility to achieve some high deeds (or fail to). It was therefore quite hard to speak highly of him and the fact that little people, as we can all understand, were very keen on both dark and laughable characters with some twisty and enigmatic stories that followed their mention. But his public status was even more degraded than that, since he got himself drunk a few times in the village tavern and got involved in a few fights quite well but triggered by so irrelevant matters they were only considered as stupidities.

**The unpredictable event it was worth waiting for**

For at least three month, no one showed up to enquire about lord Carnavon's son. He almost reached the conclusion that there never would. A fortnight later though, at dawn, a cantering rider entered the courtyard. At first one would have sworn he was the ghost of some defeated knight, wearing the most cheerless murky clothes, mounting a black horse that could have been a shadow. As he stood, the rising sun behind him, he almost looked like a phantom, out of reality. A horse keeper came down to him panting, as he had just got up hastily. The incomer removed his helmet that was completely covering (and thus protecting) his head. One could see he was still quite young but his facial attitude also let appear that he had gone through a lot too much in his life. His expression transformed after a few seconds into stone so that guessing his thought and emotions was simply humanly impossible.

"Lead me to your lord!" he sharply declared.

Hopefully Lord Carnavon didn't sleep very long after dawn and on that day he was already in the counsel room meditating his next action.

"My lord, there's someone asking for you, a knight as it seems" said shyly the servant with a country accent, hesitating on whether to get in the room or not, because he wouldn't dear disturb his master.

"Let him in and bring us something to eat and drink. If he wishes to see me then I must consider him as my guest and thus treat him as such." He solemnly declared.

The man bent down, babbling something approaching an "of course my lord" and ran away to his task.

A few minutes later, our mysterious character entered the room. He hadn't opened his mouth since his request and was still holding his steel helmet, waiting for a word from Sir Carnavon. The latter didn't wait long, as he recognised the legendary knight he had standing in front of him from the absence of any coat of arms combined with his more than unusual entrance. He knew who he was dealing with, although it could not help him figure out what way he should've acted or even expected.

"Sir Bedwyr, welcome. Be my guest. I hope your journey wasn't too harsh and that you haven't had to ride all night. If you need anything, just ask some of my servants." He announced in a conformed to the knights code tone.

"That won't be needed, my lord. I just meant to enquire whether you were still searching for a knight to guide your son. I would indeed be honoured to take him with me through my journeys across King Uther's Kingdom." He replied coldly. Well, let's say he still had a lot in common with a ghost, considering his lifeless, gravy but hypnotising tone. One wanted to believe every word he said and hear him speak as long as possible. For a second, Sir Carnavon remained speechless.

"Sir Bedwyr, that is a much appreciated proposition that you just made. And I shall speak for my son when I say that he is willing to accompany you as soon as possible."

**Leaving home never to return**

A few minutes later, Sir Carnavon had settled everything, without speaking a word of it to his son, since he believed he perfectly had the right to speak for him and always will. He now had to announce to the latter that he had no choice but to leave an hour later, with no chance to say goodbye to his sister and prohibition to take anything personal with him (which was Sir Bedwyr sole demand). Be driven into such a situation would've been an option for no one. But for lord Carnavon, respect to one's family and especially to its older members was a rule one could never break. His confidence lied in his intrinsic power over his progeny.

He caught Gwaine still in bed and felt almost amused, thinking it may well be the last time he would have the opportunity to (fatherly) yell at him for it. Having ordered him to get up, get dressed and take a travelling bag, he simply notified Gwaine of his imminent departure. Luckily for him, Gwaine never refused some promising adventure, even if he would always recall the heartless, cold and totally blind decision of his father as the day he realised his father actually didn't emotionally care about him. After his sire had left the room, as he managed to pack discretely a necklace he had stolen from his mother's treasury when he was 8 years old, he imagined how his wonderfully strong but emotionally fragile sister would react when she would find out. He suddenly felt for the first time in his life that he was on the verge of bursting into tears. He inertly hoped he would be given the chance to stay alive until he had the opportunity to visit her. However, crying never was and would never be his type so he quickly hid this thought into the "bad memories" corner of his mind, along with the whole day.

Grabbing his more than light luggage, he wondered how his suddenly becoming true adventurous life would be. He realised he didn't know much about his new master, just as anybody in the kingdom. Bedwyr appeared in fact to be the most mysterious knight protecting the territory, discreet and effective but remaining austere and secret to anyone approaching him. The sole legend that could reveal anything about his personality was a tragic one, related to failure. Though he was seen as one of the most extraordinary capable fighter of his time, Bedwyr didn't obtain the title of "Knight of Camelot". The one day when he failed, the legend reported, every single spectator had the strange feeling that it couldn't have actually happened, as if some supernatural forces had plotted to interfere with what was meant to be. Like everyone who wanted to be knighted as official protector of Camelot, our unlucky character had to challenge the leader of the order, which was already embodied by the very young Prince Arthur of Camelot, and manage to fight bravely for at least a minute. Nothing impossible, though only the best could achieve such a task. But for Bedwyr, his success seemed so bound to be that Prince Arthur himself thought this challenge was only a matter of principle. The legend didn't mention what was the trigger to his fall however this fact was certain, since it had been the most unexpected result of a challenge for decades and conducted to his disqualification for life. For life because then one could only take the challenge once. King Uther had given Bedwyr the right to remain on his territory as an "independent" knight, making him the one true errand protector of the land that could never return victorious to Camelot, even if he had achieved enough to become a living myth, which was what actually came to pass. Wondering how degraded it must have felt, Gwaine harshly condemned Camelot for not having shown the mercy Bedwyr deserved. With this frustration, that he had begun to associate with nobility as a set of arbitrary, silly rules in mind, he jumped on his mare, not bothering to say his farewell to his father nor to his brother, and joined Bedwyr in silence outside the castle, so intimidated that he didn't dare do one of his ironically mocking jokes.

**A missed destiny?**

The Northern Saxon Border, in an unwatched area, at dawn. Camelot lied behind imposing mountains. We reckoned our two heroes mounted on horses, waiting for something. It all seemed quite mysterious and suspicious. The still palpable tension between the two informed us that they weren't even close to being friends. It had been a while though, one could assume that they would at least be chatting instead of waiting silently for at least an hour. However, considering Bedwyr's bitter character and his ascetical way of life, this was nothing profoundly surprising. On the other hand, Gwaine had literally transformed into a proper warrior: having gained muscles, falsely arrogant manners and cut his hairs as short as it could imaginably be possible. He had somehow managed to keep his necklace and his horse with him, which meant that he hadn't completely bent to his instructor's will. This still didn't unfold the reason of their presence in such a spot. Hopefully we needed not wait long until someone came out of the forest, escorted by two guards.

"My Lord, pleased to see you here and honoured to be your guide to Zaldor" the knight just said humbly, joining the rider, pursued by his apprentice.

"Bedwyr, my friend, you needn't behave that officially! We are still equals, like in the old days" the traveller said, half laughing, half shocked.

"I'm afraid these days are long gone and me with them. Let's depart before someone catches us, shall we?" Bedwyr had gone from a cold-hearted way of speaking to a much irritated, almost angry tone. Some ancient memory that he thought he had succeeded into erasing must have been troubling him somehow. However, this quite brutal reaction froze the air for a second and thus they departed silently towards the mountains. Even if he didn't show it at all, one could understand that Gwaine felt legitimately both uncomfortable, he who craved warmly free speaking relationships, especially between long-time friends, and intrigued by this sign of humanity, from which he might learn the clue to understand Bedwyr he had been waiting for since the day they departed from Camelot. And he would certainly not be disappointed by the day to come.

As they rode down to the forest, they arrived to a canyon commonly known as Camlan. Nowadays the simple occurrence of this place can greatly frighten anyone, even the bravest and adventurous ones. By that time though, it was a place famous for its mineral beauty and the natural protection it gave to anyone going through. Basically it was just a place where the position of the rocks seemed so unlikely and at the same time it all fitted so harmoniously that every traveller could not help but to gloss about it and make up some mystical properties linked to it, especially since the path was too tight to let pass more than 3 men at a time, increasing the feeling of a sheltering will. A few instants after they entered the canyon, Bedwyr started breathing heavily and stopped his horse, ordering Gwaine to go forth with lord Cadneon, before he set foot on land. Even off his horse, he wouldn't let himself show any sign of weakness but the struggle could clearly be witnessed.

As soon as they disappeared, he fell on his knees, eyes wide shut as if he could assist to some event inside. His arms were turned to the sky, appalled by some unearthly spirit from above. Still panting, tears rolled down on his cheeks, like diamonds shining in the sun that had surprisingly emerged from the threatening clouds. Could it have been a divine intervention or rather some obvious sign sent to our hero (who had very little of a hero at that moment) by a superior being (or more reasonably assumed a magical being)? That is for everyone individually to decide even if as storyteller (and thus compelled in a way to follow the legendary interpretation) we will stay with the fairy-tale version. So, as we were saying, Bedwyr was experiencing contact with the Otherworld. His reaction, except for the few drops, probably caused by the intensity of his not-to-be denied vision he was having, was close to oblivion. Either he could be counted as one of the true believers in the Otherworld's spirits' interferences or he had encountered oracles before. It might have been both considering his past and above all his downfall. Right in the middle of Camlan, he stood still for a dozen of minutes or as it would have seemed to anyone there, enthralled by this quite archetypical scene, more like a dozen seconds (or hours, depends on how much you enjoy it). At last he began moving, but not as if all of it was over, more as if he were trying to chase someone, to prevent some event, struggling with his own arms in seizures. It all ended in a frightening shout, given out in a patently desperate attempt to change what virtually appeared as unbearable. The knight's chest made a jump, testifying the departure of the spirit, followed by the hasty opening of his eyes, bursting into life again. He hurriedly ran to his horse and climbed up back, tackling at once the unfortunate animal.

Half an hour passed before the cantering horse joined the rest of his horde. Gwaine turned out, evidently relieved at the sight of his master. No comment was made by any of them. They quietly rode for the rest of the day, attaining the forest at twilight. As could be expected, Gwaine fetched some woods and lit up a fire (he was just a servant after all). Soon they were all asleep except for the latter, on guard. On the verge of falling asleep, the apprentice heard a shriek close to him. Another one startled him and made him turn around, only to see that the person responsible was Bedwyr. He sighted, relieved. His master must have done that in the past. However a few seconds later his face contracted and he bent down to wake the bad-dreamer up. Letting him disturb the others' rest (and preventing him from watching for incoming dangers) would in fact have been a truly unreasonable alternative.

"Why am I not left at peace to sleep?" Bedwyr angrily muttered, getting on his arms.

"You were having a bad dream sir. I hope it has nothing to do with what happened this afternoon, if I may say." Gwaine replied, deeply concerned.

"Unfortunately it rendered it worse" he sighted, sitting up. As if he suddenly realised how stranger those dreams must have seemed to his apprentice, he declared, leading Gwaine to the fire camp, where they both sat, side by side "I'll make an attempt in explaining these bad-dreams to you" he paused for a while, gathering forces, and words, his look turning into a really sincere and serious one. "You are not to ignore why I didn't become a knight of Camelot, do you?"

Gwaine nodded.

"Since that day, once in a while, it just feels, in my dreams, that things have gone differently, and that I found myself at Arthur's side. It appeared as idyllic, going from adventure to adventure and therefore I always thought I made it all up out of nostalgia and remorse. Until today."

"Because this time you were not sleeping when it happened" Gwaine completed.

"It struck even harder than that. The vision had nothing idyllic anymore, it couldn't have been worse. I thought I was being transported into a living nightmare. Some battle was taking place right where I actually stood. And Arthur…. Arthur fought as bravely as ever… before a blade went in and out his body. I watched myself carrying him (or rather dragging him) to some isle where he could be saved according to some sorcerer on the battlefield… and he died just before we reached the lake! My last gesture was to throw Arthur's sword into the lake, for some unknown reason, but it seemed utterly important."

He went silent, meditating what it had just said. Gwaine was not less in a similar state of mind. They both sat all night, thinking, probably turning every detail upside down though it seemed none of the two could find an explanation to this. The Otherworld's will was to remain of a secret meaning, though one could think it was nothing but the traces of a legend that failed to happen.


	3. Chapter 3: a small world

**Chapter three: we live in a small world (with narrow rules)**

**Dealing with issues the right way?**

"What I am trying to achieve, travelling with this bloke? Couldn't I just take off?"

On that morning in the woods, Gwaine's thoughts were all framed around this suggestion that his mind had made up gradually for the last six months. Since Bedwyr had opened to him the day they passed Camlan he hadn't learned a single information from and about his master. There hadn't been much to focus on either for the last six months, chiefly because the few adventures they went through were to Bedwyr so capital, because of what was at stake that day (a few children, a nobleman against bandits or wolves, how horribly dangerous…), or maybe so strategic (Bedwyr could be after all seeking the attention of some king even if he would have completely denied it, no doubt) that Gwaine could never be part of it. Frustration had begun to fill him with both nostalgia and dissatisfaction (tempting him more and more to rebel and take another path, another destiny). Gwaine had never been born for austerity and submission. And that was no damn secret! Did his father get him so wrong or did he planned to get rid of him this way? Strangely the apprentice was bitterer towards the one who'd sent him away than towards the one who concretely sparked off his revolted state of mind. However one should judge how fast and tremendously Gwaine had improved in combat, thanks to his daily training (always very early in the morning).

"But how could I become a knight if I ruin this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? What else could I be doing for the rest of my life if not being a knight?" he asked himself one more time "I absolutely have to shut this voice resonating in my head down if I want to avoid crushing the little chances I had." He repeated himself again and again.

Unfortunately it was far more easily said than done. Liberty calling the prisoners never gave up (and most certainly never should) until it succeeded in its task. Trying to be free can sometimes almost drive oneself into becoming a slave of one's own desire for freedom. Gwaine imagined freedom as him deciding at every moment of what his actions would be, according to his goals or more spontaneously his momentous inspiration. But forgetting that choosing to suffer and continuing his path in order to become a knight corresponded to that wish, to that very implementation of his will, even though one part of him wanted to escape and let it go.

Gwaine eventually managed to hunt this thought down and focused on the road. For the past few days, they had been passing through a forest (Gwaine couldn't remember which one; he might even not have been told about it), another one. This bloody country really counted too many forests. Maybe he should have fled right to the sea, at least he would get rid of the muddy atmosphere. Well, he shouldn't have asserted such a thing that fast but hopefully fleeing to the sea was none of his current options.

Anyway, the road they had been on since dawn had its charms, so to speak. It might must have been the very joyfully dazzling light but the oak trees had a quite surreal colour, between a light greenish-blue and a gleaming orange. The place was full of squirrels that animated the landscape with their brown-grey fur. Once he had forced himself to observe and even more peruse the images Gwaine perceived from his environment, the living spectacle struck him, calling him back to his metaphysical need to contemplate. And so he calmed himself down, giving away all his bitterness through seizing the overwhelming harmony.

**A single but decisive request:**

They reached the next inhabited location a few hours later. More precisely, they arrived at a city called Helion (with a gorgeous castle, which had moats, so much fancier that Carnavon and first of all functional, since it rendered the whole edifice defendable, just as in Camelot). But, they hadn't even passed the gates that they noticed a quite unusual though absolutely refreshing and energizing atmosphere. They soon found out while queuing up in front of the gates (which already gave a clue: there was some kind of popular gathering going on –couldn't wish for anything else!), especially since the merchant in front of them was the most chatty person Gwaine had ever seen (of rather overheard). After five minutes of being forced to listen to him talking about how he had the best spears and blades of the kingdom (if not of the whole region, including Camelot) in terms of value for money, he proudly declared that he would be the main supplier of the tournament.

"A tournament? I can't be missing such a thrilling event!"

The thought automatically popped out, so loudly that our young companion was quite certain he had blurted it out, out loud, until he realized that no reaction from anyone (not even the noisy tradesman trying to lure him into acquiring one of his "essential for any true fighter" items) had followed! Bedwyr must have been secretly cursing every single human being taking part in some way in this rush. Gwaine found himself, on the contrary, dreaming about knights, fighting, and picturing himself among them surrounded by people applauding and cheering them up every step of the way. He hardly noticed when they had any chance of moving (an occasion which was to be taken at any cost). He didn't even have to imagine the clamour of the crowd, because he could already hear it all around him.

"Here you go, my lords" the guard said at the door "if you wish to find a room for the night, you should be able to get one at the dragon's inn, second street on your left"

"That's a good thing to know. Nice of you, mate" Gwaine answered.

He was always the only one who bothered thanking other people's kindness and hospitality. But this was no problem for him anyway.

Once they managed with great difficulty to slip through the crowded area, they walked into the inn, probably one of the worsts in town. The others were all out of beds, no doubts. They registered quickly and settled before taking lunch. Frugal, as usual: bread and cheese accompanied with wine (and an awful lot of water, at least following Gwaine's standards). The still on-going quietness became too much for our chatty friend, who finally made the decision to speak up.

"Ever had any interest in tournament?" he asked, as if it was just a random interrogation between two men who would've just met each other.

"In my youth, yes. I even won one, quite miraculously I have to admit" he calmly replied, though one could perceive a revived light of joy into his eyes.

"Had any fun and honour participating?" Gwaine insisted.

"Sure"

Silence came out again, more oppressing than ever. Why had inquiring somebody on any subject always been so hard for him? Refusal wasn't so hard, when you tried to rationalise it (at least most of the time). But it was undoubtedly, as folks said, "Now or never". You only live once, after all (or twice, if as most people you believe in heaven).

"So, I guess you'll be understanding enough if I ask you to compete in this tournament."

"What need do you have to this kind of free show for the people?" he slammed

"It's not like I've been fighting a lot these days… or even had the chance to prove myself in any kind of way lately!" He bitterly uttered.

It wasn't going well, it almost couldn't have been worse, really. Have hope, my friend, there might be some child left inside that man, even offended. Silence fell again.

"Keep your impatience for later, young boy. Today is not the day for us to have a fight. Furthermore, a little training couldn't do any harm, as long as you don't get hurt. If you did, you'll have to deal with me, which I don't recommend to anyone." He gabbled as if he was in a hurry "And do NOT try to impress any women. This is something I would not tolerate, as long as you're under my guard."

"I won't deceive you, master" Gwaine eventually declared, before he got up on his feet and eagerly ran straight to the register desk (or at least at the end of the queue before this desk, another one).

**A tournament for the common people**

Gwaine was experiencing the biggest excitement he had felt running through his veins for months, rushing to it, but was stopped by the unexpectedly amount of people willing to undertake the same journey.

"Everybody stays in line and waits for his turn. For those who live in counties cut from the world of rumours, this tournament is open to everyone but I also remind you that commoners and nobles do not compete together (only the king of Camelot organises such contests)" shouts the herald to the crowd assembled at the market place. "Such a rare occasion can't be missed! Entry for 10 pence!"

The whole town turned into turmoil.

"They don't get that organising all this is the best way for the king to prevent them from rioting" Gwaine muttered to himself. He had overheard his father teaching to his brother how to "keep them down" in order to "hold the lead, for their own sake".

"You couldn't be more right! Had it not been for the great entertainment and hope it gave to the subjects, these tournament wouldn't have any kind of interest, according to the princes and kings of course"

The voice seemed to Gwaine as if it had come out of nowhere, though the man appeared to be his follower in the endless queue. He turned around and thought, astonished, that he stood in front of a true knight that had not doubt come to insure the security around the whole event. But why would he act as if he was waiting like anyone else? He couldn't have been a commoner though, his attitude was the one of a true noble man (and that one could tell only from his indescribable expression).

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. The credulity of the ordinary bloke sometimes just puts me down (and I can assure you, that's usually not an easy task for anyone)." He said, half laughing, subtly making fun of his interlocutor "I'm Gwaine by the way. I'll hope you'll be pleased to have met me, 'cause I have to warn you, that's not the case for everyone… But that's fine if you don't"

He had to stop the flow of his words. Why had he never felt comfortable among nobles? No wonder his father wanted to send him away. He should have endeavoured fitting in a bit more. Had it not been for his natural pendant to mock people he could have been adjoined to the family ruling organ. Why was he even meditating about this over a simple feeling of being inferior? Fortunately, these poisoning thoughts were interrupted by the stranger:

"You're not being rude to me in any way. I wish our rulers could understand their world better." He softly replied, smiling "I'll have to introduce myself as well: Lancelot, at your service", before faking to bend his knees.

He could actually joke, that was a relevant sign. His heart and values were pure inside, Gwaine trusted this intuition of his, as seldom as it properly worked.

They chatted on until they had reached the desk and signed in. Nothing personal though, just as two human beings reunited for a fleeting moment of emptiness while surrounded by others. The tournament didn't begin before the next day and Gwaine made the call that it would be more appropriate to rest, ignoring the festive spirit that was inhabiting the city, mystically inspiring poets and other pretending-to-be artists. Following the exemplary actions of Bedwyr (who, as our joker preferred to think, wouldn't miss sleeping in a proper bed for anything), he went directly up to his room, giving up beer and games.

There's no real need to detail the first day of the tournament, featuring the first and second rounds of the competition. One can easily guess that our intrepid fighter won enough combats to have to right to participate to the fights that would matter the following day. Telling it would even be boring considering how repetitive and brief it appeared. Still, it constituted an essential step. Surprisingly, the next opponent Gwaine had to fight with was Lancelot, but the latter mysteriously withdrew, which quite irritated the first, since it was supposed to be a single combat with only sword, for which Gwaine considered himself as almost as competent as Bedwyr. Unfortunately, the next round imposed the competitors to face with spears only, which appeared as Gwaine's sole weakness in combat. He was brutally eliminated from the competition, for he had been immediately unhorsed (one could have almost said "deleted", because the impact was so great that he was thrown up and down to the terraces). Thus his ego had gone through one of his roughest days. Gwaine noticed a smile on Bedwyr's face as he came back to the tavern, his spine and legs hacking, which made him suspect the latter of knowingly sending him to his humiliation. Due to this accumulation of hardships, Gwaine's drinking habit was expressing itself again, exponentially, and by the time Bedwyr retired to his room after having informed him that they were leaving at first light, there was no way to stop him from yielding to the temptation of depravation.

**A story not easy to recall**

Most of the evening (and of the night) had already gone away, when Lancelot came into the inn, probably willing to quickly get back to his clumsy room, avoiding the drunk population of the tavern floor (at least that's what Gwaine thought, giving his nobility of character his most despising look). But against all odds, he turned around, as if he was looking for something in particular (or just trying to find who appeared to be the most friendly and unaggressive lad of them all), and, for he had recognised his opponent of the day, came to sit next to him. He ordered a pint of hydromel, one of the least strong beverages, and asked the waiter to serve his neighbours another pint of what he was already enjoying. This of course, as Lancelot probably intended, triggered the conversation, for it gave Gwaine no other alternative than to thank the latter. But this also revived our hero's interest in the knight that had let him win without even struggling (when he was obviously a noble man pretending not to be one to test himself for some existential reason).

"So, you refuse to fight and then buy me a drink the next time you see me. What do I have to deserve such honour?" he teasingly asked (he was more and more enjoying gently mocking people at any time).

"You're to be a great knight in the future, one who has the peculiar will to change things, I'm certain of it…" he replied "and indeed we both know who would've won this single combat. There would've been some real interest in fighting only if we had faced each other during a proper fight, with the due steps." He was smiling, as if some oracle had revealed to him the whole of the possibilities in this world.

"But aren't you the one who's a great-to-be knight?" Gwaine almost shrieked, surprised.

"You don't seem to have another destiny awaiting either, do you?" Lancelot had almost slammed this answer "You even have the man to teach you proper swordsmanship and spears, and to recommend you to any prince when the time has come"

"I'm afraid I've got to suggest you do not avoid the subject through the meaning of teasing, as you (so subtly) just did. I'd like to learn the truth about yourself" he sneered.

"You really don't want to hear this one, for I am not proud of what I've done" he declared, his face suddenly turning grave and solemn.

"You shouldn't have uttered these words, my friend. Had you not, wouldn't I have persisted in questioning you. Now I won't stop until I'm either too drunk to talk or when you would've told me every detail of it all"

"Shush!" the so designed story teller hurriedly whispered "it is not something to shout around. Behold, for you may already be too drunk. You might even not remember a thing, which I won't be complaining about if it were to become true"

"Alright, alright, pal" Gwaine was now murmuring, so low that the contrast with his last words clearly exhibited his state (or rather had it heard). "let's hear it all completely" he still insisted.

"Then, I shall commence with the beginning. Since I was a child, my only defined aim in life has been to one day be knighted so that I could fight to shield the weak and the unprotected. I taught myself how to hold a blade and then a sword by watching any fight I possibly could. One day, as I was passing through the forest, near the blessed city of Camelot, sometime after I had decided to leave home and seek for adventures, I rescued a young boy from a witchy creature, which appeared to be hunting him down. Merlin (that was his name) revealed himself to be attending as Prince Arthur's servant, doing basically anything the latter ordered him to, poor lad. Desperate to thank me, he offered to let me stay for a while in the chambers he shared with the court physician. He also insisted on introducing me to the prince himself, who's the head of the knights of Camelot as well"

"Hey, mate" "interrupted Gwaine. Lancelot glanced at him, condemning his present attitude "how come you're not currently a knight, then?"

"As you probably know, Uther, who needed to find people he could trust and rely on, had made the laws of Camelot, so that only noblemen, members of the family that had sworn allegiance to him, ought to be knights, if they were skilled enough for this kind of destiny. Unfortunately, how good and true my intentions, I'm nothing more than an ordinary commoner and thus had no right in applying."

He went silent, probably trying to figure out a way to put things in the right order and avoid going to and fro in time and space and this way prevent all confusions, or at least as much as possible.

"But surely they must have seen that you were true of heart, more than most of the noblemen of the entire kingdom, didn't they?"

"Well, they might have, if only I had not let Merlin convince me to pretend I belonged to a noble family. He is not to blame thought, for he was only trying to help me with all his heart. Anyway the decision remained entirely mine. Though I doubt Uther's mind could've been altered, since he wouldn't listen to a thing his own son said, supporting that I was a reliable man." Lancelot was searching for words again, when Gwaine screeched:

"But this is completely unfair!" he said

"Keep it down you fool! The story is not close to its end yet" Lancelot muttered. "Uther showed a little mercy, letting me go, which I myself would not have granted. I would be banished but at least I wouldn't be hanged. In the meantime, the creature I had saved Merlin from was still causing much trouble to the city, so Arthur and his knights went to track it down. I found myself there too, and…" he hesitated.

Was there something to be hesitating about? If there were, Lancelot managed to make up his mind before his companion could even start to ask himself questions (which wasn't the hardest thing, in this moment).

"Miraculously- almost magically, I felt-, I was able to defeat the beast. I don't think it was me in particular, it had most certainly been already greatly hurt by the other knights. At the right place, at the right time, I guess. That's why I couldn't let Arthur try to talk his father into accepting me back. I had nothing else to do but to leave on the spot hoping to find a better future, honestly, and make myself worthy enough to maybe return to Camelot when the time has come. Here is, Gwaine, the drama of my life. Nothing cunning, nothing to be deeply proud of but unsuccessful hardships that lead to nowhere. For the past months, after departing from Camelot, I've been seeking for a way to go, for some interest, but I'm not even close to seeing anything shining out to be my guide nor my moto. Don't give me that revolted-but-disappointed look! I shall see how you manage remaining true to yourself in this world!"

"I'm, I'm really not myself enough right now… I have to find a bed to lie down for a while… I think I remember Bedwyr reminding me that we were getting off before sunrise… I should be better then, so find me in the stables, 'cause we have things to talk about, I'm sure of it… just not right now".

He chuckled but seemed on the verge of collapsing. Maybe his drinking habit had not proven to be so sticky after all, maybe he just had a lot too much to drink, humanly speaking. Lancelot helped him to go up his room, or rather to his bed, where he lied down, already snoring, before going out, closing the door after him. Once he stood in the corridor, he sighed, as if relieved from a heavy burden. After all, it constituted the highest (and probably the only one) benefit of revealing a secret to another soul. No wrong could come out of this, one would legitimately acknowledge. This apprentice wouldn't even reckon this event and even less probably he would not recognised the confider of the night before, when Lancelot would innocently wait for him in the stables, hoping for some deus ex machina rushing for him once more.

**Divorcing with nobility**

Five days from there, and five and a half days later, Lord Carnavon, resting at peace by the window of his room, one could have thought meditating some end-of-life meaningful interrogation, overheard the unusually loud sound of hoofs coming from the road. These travellers must have been in a great hurry, hopefully for an appropriate reason. Carnavon had never been a town of scandal, drama or any kind of true disgrace since Gwaine's mother died and its Lord made stubbornly (but to the people also rightly) sure of it. Once they entered the gates, the riders did not seem to slow down or jump off their horses. They were clearly –though strangely enough- aiming for the castle. Carnavon abruptly straightened up of his armchair, asking himself what news or request could be reaching him through those unexpected visitors. The two were now in the yard close enough so that he could recognise the attitude of the one who obviously got them there without being asked any questions (security related, of course).

"What in heaven is my son doing here, without his guardian and master, as he visibly isn't submitted to the one accompanying him?"

The echo of his own voice notified him that he had thought out loud. Hopefully there had been no one in the room for at least an hour. He stood up, waiting for someone notifying him. Soon Richard burst into the room, panting, full of a joy that seemly tasted bitter and sweet.

"Gwaine's arrived from Helion to discuss a great matter with you! Shall I let him come in, father?" he exhaled, for he had rushed into the room, dismayed.

"Of course, of course, why would I leave a member of this family out of my house, especially if he's my son? With any luck your brother has an explanation for this situation. Order the kitchens to serve dinner as soon as possible! I shall not take any request before we properly celebrate our reunion, our last before long!"

"As you command, father"

Two hours later, the main room still resonated with stories of Carnavon and of the worlds that the visitors had seen. Lord Carnavon was greatly revived by all this animation, since Richard remained a very quiet, serious and rather boring man to keep one company. The silent companion had not dared opened his mouth, so that Carnavon had deduced Gwaine's matter had to do with the first, though he possibly wasn't himself so sure of the legitimacy of the request Gwaine must have insisted so much on supporting. Dinner time was over, Richard had issues to deal with, if sitting down at the table in the middle of the afternoon did not constitute an enough receivable reason to leave the room.

"My children, this gathering had rejoiced me like I hadn't been in some time, but now is the time for the discussion you came for, my son. We'll go in the counsel room." As he pronounced these words, the lord suddenly looked like an old man, desperate to create the time when all of his children dwelt under his roof again.

Gwaine and Lancelot followed him to the most official room of the castle, which would reveal itself to be the most appropriate location. The door was carefully closed. Gwaine was obviously feeling confident about what would result, probably because he could not remember a day when his father had showed him so much interest. Still, he began carefully, explaining that everything had been thought through, telling his friend's story (the bright and noble side being underlined, naturally). His father, listening, still had in mind that something disprovable would follow, but hoped his intuition would be proved wrong.

"… and that's why, though Lancelot isn't the son of the nobleman but proved to be one in the spirit as in his heart, I ask you to accept to train him as one of your knights."

The lord coughed, suffocating, his glass of wine still in his hands, half emptied by his compulsive movements. Gwaine run to him and managed to calm him down, though his father wasn't exactly in a quiet mood, but rather appeared out of rage (but not out of character anymore, at least to our hero).

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to have Uther trust our family? He takes the oath we took very seriously, you know! In the whole kingdom and with every of his close allies (as we are, since we need protection from the Saxons), all the knights must be of noble blood or of worthy families whose loyalty has been proven many times. I can't break the rules because my SON, who's already the shame of Carnavon, believes his "friend" is to be trusted after knowing him for a couple of days! No, I'm not taking that risk!" he shouted.

"But, father, you don't have to be public about it, just allow him to train among the others, learn. Give him time to prove himself, there's no wrong with it! Unless Uther himself comes down here out of the blue and starts scrutinising everything, the risk is highly limited!" Gwaine shouted back, defending his friend, and maybe more likely himself.

"You've never confronted yourself with the burden of responsibility, Gwaine! You don't know how frightening and eminently falling Damocles' sword is, hanging over every lord's bed!" he turned around "The law is the law, there's thus nothing to be done about this!"

"Then it is unfair and you're acting against all justice! Nobility is originally an attitude! Only deeds can prove it, blood constitutes only the insurance that one was raised by a nobleman!"

"In this case, there's a lot to doubt about you more than anyone!" What a rude backfire! Gwaine couldn't take it.

That's when he noticed that Lancelot had left the room. He dashed to the stables, since he knew his friend was trying to avoid any conflict by departing, deleting the suspended request of the agenda. Unfortunately, when he arrived, he only distinguished the storm of dust and the horse cantering away. He went back up as fuming as ever.

"He's gone now! Who knows how he could turn out, being a swordsman with no right to fight for a cause he cares about!"

"If he's as noble as you say, he'll manage to preserve himself and to support his cause all the same." Carnavon negligibly answered.

"Don't you see in what way this is already a proof of his qualities?"

"He realise how wrong he was and left, I don't see what's noble in that!"

"You're wrong, he went away because he could not bear us two fighting for and against him; just as he did in Camelot. He's too humble to demand that the law could be bent for him!"

"Anyway, there're no more issues to be discussed now. You will be departed by tomorrow morning and return to your master"

"You really haven't understood how dear to me this subject was. You have not taken it in account nor even considered my point of view!" he prepared his final words "I'll not remain here one more hour and so I will be gone as soon as my horse is fetched. I'm afraid I may never return willingly to a father so untrue to his values"

"How dare you…! You better not cross the border of my lands again unless you are ready to swear allegiance to our laws by the word!"

"I'm afraid that shall never happen" He said, bowing before his lord "farewell, father"

Five minutes later he was gone away, leaving lord Carnavon in a state where he couldn't figure out if he should be desolated of the loss of a son, disappointed or cursing a dishonourable man he had fail to bend to the rules.


End file.
